III.

The Earthly Life of Jesus.

"I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world; again, I leave the world, and go to the Father."-JOHN xvi. 28.

N this last Sunday before Christ left our earth,—not

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to return to it again till that day when He shall come "in His own glory, and the glory of the Father, and of the holy angels,"-it seems well fitting to pause, and take a general view of the visit which He made, and the mission which He accomplished.

And we must never forget, that all Christ's life here,— every act He did, and every word He spoke, was not only very important practically, and in itself, but that far beyond all other words that were ever spoken, or all other actions that were ever done, they had a significancy, and were germs left behind Him, 'to expand. And thus there may be a literalness in St. John's closing remark,-" And there are also many other things which Jesus did, the which, if they should be written every one, I suppose that even the world itself could not contain the books that should be written. Amen." For could we really unfold all that lies wrapped up in all that Jesus ever said or did, and could we write down in words that vast development, the volume would be larger than the universe.

And yet, full and momentous as that life was,—infinitely beyond the life of other men,-if He could say of it, "I

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came forth from the Father, and am come into the world: again, I leave the world, and go to the Father,”—if He could put that life into such a parenthesis, and so bracket it between its two eternities,—what must our sojourn in this earth be! what an insignificant interval! "He lived so many years, and he died!" And is this the sum of the autobiography of us all? Is it all here,-"I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world: again, I leave the world, and go to the Father?" Then what is life worth, but in its bearings on our eternity?

But balance that thought with another. From His Father, Christ came forth; from that Father He received His commission;-from a definite source, with a definite trust, He came to do a definite work; and then, that done, He went back, if we read His account, to the same Father, for His glory. It was all done for the Father, and to the Father.

So may it be with you and me. Let this be the epitome at last of whence we came, why we lived, what we did, whither we went,—“I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world: again, I leave the world, and go to the Father."

Are we not right to infer, that the period of the duration of every one's existence here, is determined by what he has to do? And what has he to do, but to ripen for the state to which he is to go?—if he be a Christian, to save himself, and to save others; if he be not a Christian, to make his iniquities full, till he has assimilated himself to the world of the lost! And then, each goes, when he is like the state to which he is going.

But observe, to the very last, it was all "the Father" with Christ, the Father the beginning, the Father the

end.

Never for one moment in His life did He lose sight of the Father. From the Father's will to the Father's glory, His path lay straight. So may it be with us! "I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world: again, I leave the world, and go to the Father."

Now sufficient stress has perhaps not been laid upon the fact, that when Christ had to do a work for man, He elected to come to this world to do it. It is evident that

it might have been otherwise. He might have done the same work elsewhere,-He might have stayed in heaven, and done it. But, oh! how great would have been the difference! how irreparable the loss to us! Where would have been the realization,—where would have been the nearness, where would have been the sympathy? You cannot lay too much emphasis on that,-that He came into this world;—“I came forth from the Father, and am come into the world; again, I leave the world, and go to the Father."

The life which Christ thus lived, from the Father, and for the Father,—seen now in a calm retrospect,—had most strange proportions. He lived thirty-three years, a little life for such a Man, and to do such a work. And yet, of those thirty-three years, thirty were almost out of sight, -spent apparently in preparation. Observe it well,

What a

thirty years preparing for three years working,-tenelevenths of life passed to lay a foundation. contrast to ourselves! What a lesson, what a special lesson, to an impatient, superficial, showy, rushing generation!

Now let us look at one or two of the features of this wonderfully-proportioned life.

It was certainly a progressive life. The bodily part of it

was first natural, quite natural; it ended in being spiritual, altogether spiritual,-spiritual though bodily. And the mind plainly grew. He learnt; He increased in wisdom; He "became perfect through suffering." May we not say, that even the love of the loveliness of it grew?—that He was, if such a thing be possible,-that He was more unselfish, more communicating, more loving, to the afflicted, to the world,—to His disciples,-as He drew near to His own agonies and death? Unquestionably it was a life which passed (and is not this growth?) from the active to the passive, from the obedience that did, to the obedience that bore. The characteristic of the life, after all, was that which probably will always be the characteristic of the highest life,-suffering. Holy and beautiful as were all His words and works, Christ was Christ "in that He suffered."

man,—

And this was singularly a life which showed always the work He had in hand. From the earnestness of the boyhood,-"Wist ye not that I must be about my Father's business?"-to the deliberate self-possession of the dying But for this cause came I to this hour; Father, glorify Thy name,” — everything,—if I may speak so humanly of what was so divine,—everything had its rule, everything had its measure, everything had its principle. Never was He off His guard,-never surprised or betrayed into one unwise utterance. His holy collectedness was admirable. He was so exceedingly accurate,―accurate in time, accurate in place, accurate in work, accurate in thought.

And, under the highest, the secret was that He was always clear, single, distinct in His object. Therefore He could throw aside the dust that obscures, or fling to the

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right-hand or the left, the waves that hinder Him. purpose was fixed; He had set His face as a flint, and therefore He was not ashamed.

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The reason of His power was unquestionably His sympathy. His sympathy was exquisite. There was nothing on this earth like the sympathy of Christ. this which gave Him such unbounded influence. It was what that meant,-"Never man spake like this man," or, "He taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes,”—the authority of one who knows the heart, and feels with every body's heart. Every one who came near Him felt that spell of sympathy; it was the brotherhood of the Son of Man; it was unparalleled in any other born of woman.

And His tastes were the purest and the most delicate. It would be little to say that He never affected what the world admires. What was modest and what was humble, always attracted Him. It was only to the proud and pretentious that He was austere. Conceit and unreality

were always repellent to Him.

He came to receive. It was scarcely more a life of imparting, than it was a life of receiving. He was always dependent upon some loving follower for the supply of every want He ever had. For as He gave sympathy, so He yearned for sympathy Himself. "Ye leave me alone." What, could ye not watch with me one hour?" There is a very high order of greatness in that acceptance of compassion. It was a part of the grandeur of His humility.

Oh! all other lowliness that ever was upon this earth, was pride by the side of the lowliness of Jesus. He never called it humility; He never seemed to feel that it was